Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery) (4 page)

*

Mr and Mrs Haywood were a couple much as I had imagined. Nathanial Haywood was powerfully built with a spade-like beard and tanned features. It was evident that he was what is commonly termed a “self-made man”, and none the worse for it. His rise from the position of grocer’s assistant to the ownership of a large and successful fish canning business had given him a brisk and confident air, but had not diminished his natural good humour. Likewise his wife Nellie, although now married to one of the foremost businessmen of the town, had none of the pretentiousness sometimes associated with a rapid climb in society. Rather younger than her husband, her bright eyes and keen gaze denoted a natural intelligence.

Once
the three of us had exchanged greetings and were settled around the tea things, with the parlour maid given permission to leave, Mr Haywood passed me a slim manila envelope.

‘Here
are my ideas for Flora’s marriage settlement for you to put into the usual legal jargon. I’m intending to give Flora ten thousand pounds, which I consider generous. Five thousand is to be put in trust to be invested for her own use and the capital inherited by any children she may have. The date of the marriage hasn’t been fixed, but it will certainly not be before the New Year. Flora is not yet of age and cannot marry without our permission before 15th January 1896. On that day she is twenty one and will be able to do as she wishes.’

‘If
you will bear with me I will quickly look through this to see if I have any immediate queries,’ I said. I scanned the document, which had been very clearly written out in everyday language by Mr Haywood. Then I read the final clause – and re-read it to ensure that I had not made a mistake. I held the page out, pointing to the relevant section.

‘This
part is somewhat – shall we say unusual?’ I said. ‘Are you sure you wish to include it?’

Haywood
nodded. ‘Yes, it’s most important. I dare say Velland won’t like it, but that’s a matter for him. Was there anything else?’

‘The
rest seems very straightforward,’ I said.

‘Good.
My wife and daughter and I are leaving for Falmouth tomorrow to visit Edith’s sister. We will return this coming Saturday, so perhaps you could call upon us then regarding your progress with the settlement.’

He
continued with a lowered voice. ‘There is of course the other matter: your investigation into the baronet’s suitability as a husband. You arrived in Cornwall yesterday – I wonder if you have discovered anything yet?’

Mrs
Haywood placed her hand on her husband’s arm and smiled. ‘Really my dear, you expect rather a lot from Mr Harker.’

‘Not
at all, Mrs Haywood,’ I said. ‘Your husband is correct: I have already had some opportunity to discuss Sir Owen’s situation, discreetly of course. Perhaps if I tell you what I already know, you will be able to add your own perceptions to mine.’

The
Haywoods agreed with my suggestion and I took out my pocket book in which I had noted all that I had learned so far about Sir Owen Velland. I summarised my discoveries and also explained that I hoped soon to receive a report concerning the years that he spent in London before moving to Cornwall five years ago.

I
put down my notes. ‘In short,’ I concluded, ‘I have been given the impression of a reclusive man, concerned with his scientific researches, who is seen as something of an oddity by his neighbours. However, I have heard nothing specific against him, and he appears to have a good friend in the Reverend Trewellard. I am to meet Sir Owen tomorrow morning. Before I do so, it would be a great help if you could expand on the matters that you hinted at in your letter to Mr Joplin.’

For
a few moments Haywood stared silently at the wall opposite him, avoiding my gaze. His wife put her hand on his and turned towards me.

‘Mr
Harker, perhaps my husband will let me explain our concerns.’

Haywood
nodded almost imperceptibly and she continued. ‘Nathanial is a clever and successful man of business, who is not given to fancies. Neither indeed am I. There are however many in this part of the world who consider the baronet to be an evil man, who exercises a malevolent influence. Let me give you one example. When he succeeded to the baronetcy and returned to Carrick Manor in September 1890, Sir Owen found that a stretch of land on the western edge of his property was in dispute. It had been cultivated by a local farmer for many years, but the previous baronet – who was disinclined to go to law over the dispute – believed it to be part of the Carrick estate. Sir Owen determined that it should revert to his ownership and six months after his return he commenced legal proceedings against Silas Fraddam, the farmer who had it under cultivation. As it turned out the matter never went to court. Silas was not able to defend his case.’

‘What
happened?’ I asked.

‘Silas
was sitting one evening in the public bar of the Black Bull in St Ives. He was discussing the price of potatoes with a friend, then – according to the half dozen people who were in the bar that night – he suddenly leapt up from his bar-stool and looked about him wildly, as if someone, or something, had entered the room. He shouted incoherently and ran out, leaving his tankard half full behind him. It was only half-past eight and fortunately there were enough people outside to restrain him. It seemed that Silas had taken leave of his senses. He was brought to Dr Leonard, who gave him a sedative and found him a bed in the infirmary. I’m sorry to say that despite all that Dr Leonard could do poor Silas never recovered. After all was tried and declared hopeless he was taken to the lunatic asylum in Redruth, where he remains to this day. There’s many in St Ives who feel that an unnatural influence was used by Sir Owen against his opponent. The farm was inherited by Silas’ son, a young man of twenty six, whose first act on taking up ownership was to cede the disputed acres to the new baronet.’

‘That
is a tragic story,’ I said. ‘I can quite see how the popular opinion turned against the baronet. However....’

Nathanial
Haywood interrupted me. ‘Yes, it’s easy to dismiss such gossip as superstitious ignorance. As you might imagine there was also a lot of loose talk about the tragic death of his young wife, although Dr Leonard’s evidence at the inquest made it very clear what must have happened. However, not only have we heard strange tales concerning Sir Owen Velland, but we’ve had disquieting experiences of our own. Let me explain.

‘Just over three months ago, in the first week of August of this year, our daughter Flora had walked into the centre of St Ives with our parlour maid, Liza. She wished to order a new dress and Liza had some shopping to do for my wife. According to Liza, a very reliable servant, they were walking down the main street of our little town when a sudden breeze got up from nowhere and blew some stray sheets of newsprint into Flora’s face. Flora stumbled on the pavement outside the shop and slipped to the ground, unharmed but somewhat shaken. Before she could struggle to her feet, she was assisted by a middle aged gentleman who had that moment been passing in his carriage. With Flora’s permission, the gentleman and his coachman took my daughter and Liza home to this house. Having delivered her safely to our door the man politely refused to come inside and drove off, leaving his card.’

‘And
did you see this Good Samaritan again?’ I enquired.

Haywood
scowled. ‘Unfortunately yes. The gentleman in question was Sir Owen Velland, who had been making one of his infrequent visits to St Ives. You will hardly need to be told what followed. Common courtesy required that Flora write to thank him for his assistance and he subsequently called upon us. Nellie and I had no idea that Flora subsequently met with the man on more than one occasion. Just three weeks after their first meeting Sir Owen called on me to request Flora’s hand in marriage. When I refused, citing the age difference between them, he had the confounded cheek to tell me that as my daughter would soon be twenty one the marriage could take place with or without my permission.’

‘Sir
Owen sadly misjudged my husband,’ said Mrs Haywood with the trace of a smile. ‘Nathanial took him by the collar and threw him out. That same evening Flora – who had been left in no doubt as to our disapproval of her actions
and
her suitor – had gone to bed. We are night owls and it was a little after midnight when my husband extinguished the oil lamps here in the drawing room, taking the candle to go upstairs. By that time our servants had all retired and I dare say we were two of the few people in St Ives not yet abed. When we reached the bedroom a sudden gust of wind blew out the candle.

‘As it was a warm summer evening the bedroom window was open and apart from that momentary draught the air was completely still. There was no moon and there are no street lamps outside this house, so it was very dark. I felt for a box of matches that we keep on our dressing table and struck one. It flared up well – then was almost immediately extinguished. At the same time a distinct chill descended upon the room. I pulled my wife towards me and put my arm around her shoulder. There was just enough light to see that a shadowy cloud started to form in front of us, shapeless but somehow threatening, as if about to transform into something horrible. Quite what would have happened next I’m not sure – nothing very pleasant, I suspect – but then as I felt for another match, my hand touched an object which we keep on the table – my father’s old Bible. What then occurred surprised me as much as Nellie. On instinct I held the Bible up in my right hand and told whatever – or whomever – was in the room to depart. I believe that my actual words were “In the Lord’s name, go!”’

I
nodded. ‘And the fact that you are both self-evidently safe and sound suggests that your improvised exorcism was successful?’

‘Indeed,’
Haywood said. ‘The phenomenon ceased in an instant, leaving us unharmed. Although you will understand when I say that neither of us slept that night.

‘Early
the next morning, before breakfast, Flora asked if she could speak to us. We said nothing to her about our disagreeable experience. She was respectful but resolute, saying that she was absolutely determined to marry Sir Owen Velland with or without our consent as soon as she became of age this coming January. After she left us my wife and I discussed the matter and decided on our stratagem. We would agree to the alliance, but at the same time not scruple to discover more about the baronet before their wedding day.’

Mrs
Haywood stood up and took my hand in hers. ‘Now you will know why we wished you to undertake this investigation,’ she said. ‘There is darkness and perhaps danger in this affair and who better to untangle it than the young man who played such a crucial part in consigning Count Dracula to hell?’

Chapter Four

After taking leave of Nathanial and Nellie Haywood I made my way to the George Hotel where my arrival was expected. I found that my cases had already been taken up to my room, which had a pleasant view over St Ives Bay. As instructed the landlord – a bearded, rotund gentleman – had arranged for a large deal table to be placed under the window, where I would be able to work on a draft of Flora’s marriage settlement prior to my meeting the next morning with Sir Owen Velland.

I
worked all afternoon on the document. At around four o’clock I took a break from my labours with a stroll round the picturesque streets of St Ives and the evening dusk was beginning to gather by the time I returned to the George Hotel. Another hour at my desk was sufficient for me to complete my task and I walked downstairs to order my dinner for half-past seven. The landlord – Bob Newsome by name – who had helped me that morning was on duty behind the bar. He greeted me cheerfully.

‘Good
evening Mr Harker sir! I hope your work’s gone well. Can I recommend a tankard of Helstone bitter? I’ve just tapped the barrel and it seems a real fine brew.’

‘Good
evening, Mr Newsome. Yes, I’ll try your bitter. Will you join me in a glass – or should I say another glass, as you have already tested its quality?’

Newsome
chuckled. ‘Yes indeed sir, I’ll try a little more.’ As he was drawing the ale he spoke to me over his shoulder. ‘I suppose you’ll be off to see Sir Owen before long, now that you have Flora Haywood’s marriage settlement in hand?’

It
was my turn to laugh. The network of local informants in the town was clearly impressive.

‘I wonder if there is anyone now living in St Ives who does
not
know the purpose of my visit?’ I asked. Newsome looked a little anxious at my words, so I quickly reassured him. ‘My good fellow, I speak only in jest. There is after all no need to keep my work here a secret. I do indeed plan to see the baronet very shortly. I understand he has something of a reputation as a recluse.’

Newsome
placed the foaming tankard in front of me and I took a long drink. As he had promised it was of excellent quality, with a distinctive nutty flavour. The landlord took an appreciative swig from his own glass, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked quickly around the bar. Apart from two elderly working men at a table in the far corner, the room was empty. Newsome leaned forward and spoke to me in lowered, confidential tones.